Hang
by Oseyeris
Summary: A group of mechs converge in pre-war downtown Kaon as the evening spirals into a rancorous night of dangerous indulgence.
1. I

_:Soundwave to Hook.:_

Soundwave was standing in a poorly lit hallway, facing a blank gray door. This particular hallway was part of an old apartment building that hadn't been renovated in vorns. The hard metal floor was as unappealing as the drab red and brown walls that surrounded him. The air was stagnant around him, except for subtle currents as air entered his intakes. Overall, the ambiance was not pleasant. But he still liked the place. It had that homey feel most other apartment buildings lacked.

_:Soundwave to Hook!:_

Ravage was sitting directly in front of Soundwave's legs, facing the door with a quiet air of patience and superiority. The other cassettes were back at his apartment, entertaining themselves with methods unknown. Soundwave didn't think it was appropriate to bring them on this venture anyway. Ravage was accompanying him only because he flat out refused to stay at home, and Soundwave had a suspicion that it had something to do with Blaster's quadruped cassette.

Unfortunately for Soundwave, the locking mechanism on Hook's door was jammed, which forced him to stand outside like a stranger at an unfriendly door until Hook opened it manually. On a usual day he would have just walked in with a brief announcement of his presence.

Soundwave raised his fist and pounded on the door, putting a few dents in the otherwise unremarkable surface.

Hook's familiar raspy voice rang through the door. "Hold on you nut, I'm coming."

There was a large amount of shuffling on the other side of the door, and then a distinctive thump. Soundwave guessed it was a body hitting the floor. There was some mumbling followed by a set of footsteps, and then the door swished open to reveal the form of Hook. He looked as usual, a tall scuffed frame with four long arms held loosely at his side. He was painted a dark blue with black accents on the edge of some of his plating. There was a new addition to his paint in the form of golden scratches on his thighs. Soundwave suddenly felt an extraordinary amount of smugness coming over his bond from Ravage, and he looked down at his symbiont and frowned.

There was a running joke between himself, Ravage, and Vortex concerning Hook's promiscuous nature, and the fact that he always seemed to have foreign paint on his frame. Ravage had bet that the next shade to appear on Hook's form would be gold, and Soundwave had taken him up on the wager. He now owed the quadruped a full wax and polish, probably with a happy ending. Ravage liked that sort of thing. How the four-legged cassette had known was anybot's guess.

"What you waiting for, then?" Hook stepped aside, allowing the pair to enter.

The apartment was a small two bedroom unit. There were no windows, and it gave the feeling of being trapped or secure, depending on who was there. Across from the door was a small living area with two extremely old couches tucked in the corner. The room was sparsely decorated, save for a table in front of the couches. Energon cubes littered the floor, most likely from a recent binge. There was no entertainment system. Entertainment came in a different flavor for the mechs that lived here. Sprawled out over one of the couches was Sunstreaker, undoubtedly offline. He sported Hook-colored marks on the back of his legs, and his valve cover was still open. Soundwave glanced at the offline form of the golden mech, then turned and raised an eyebrow in question at Hook, who was digging through a black box on the table.

"Where did you find this one?" Soundwave asked.

"Met him at Wheeljack's" The response was short and clipped, like that was a sufficient explanation. It was.

"So you brought him back here and fragged him until you both offlined?"

Hook didn't dignify him with a response. Instead, he continued to rummage through what would appear to the untrained eye as an eclectic collection of spare electrical parts.

Soundwave smirked internally. "Do you have the capacitor?"

Ratchet had asked Soundwave to stop by and retrieve his capacitor from Hook, as the medic didn't live in Kaon and was returning to Iacon the next day. Capacitors, as they were called, were illegal devices used for delivering large shocks to willing participants. They were used in conjunction with power sources, most often small, compact generators. Most of them were built by scientists and engineers who had the available parts and knowledge to build them. Often, mechs who build them would sell them on the side for extra credits. They certainly weren't cheap. The current object in question had just been made by Wheeljack that orn; he had built it for Ratchet as a favor. Hook was just holding onto it until Ratchet had to leave for Iacon.

"Yeah, I'm going to short a bit, you want in?"

Soundwave glanced at Ravage, who cocked his head in a why-not kind of way. "Yes." He made his way over to the unoccupied couch and sat down. Ravage jumped up next to him.

Hook took out the new capacitor from the box and set it on the table. He reached back into the container and removed a small screwdriver, a variety of wires, and a medical plug adapter. Soundwave reached for the wires and the adapter, and started to thread the wires into the ports on the plug.

"You know what you're doing, right?" Hook was leaning over a small fission generator on the ground, connecting the capacitor to its power source. He was watching Soundwave's hands create the device with an expertise that could only be attained by years of practice.

A small smirk formed on Soundwave's faceplate. "I've been doing this longer than you have."

As he finished threading the wires, Soundwave set the completed part on the table. Hook walked over and placed the generator on the table, which was now connected to the capacitor. He then sat down on the opposite side of Ravage, who was watching the proceedings with a casual interest. Soundwave could feel restrained excitement leaking through their bond, and he empathized with his companion. Shorting was one of their favorite activities. Soundwave's other symbionts were oblivious about their occasional indulgence, and what they didn't know couldn't hurt them.

"How many ticks is this capacitor?" Soundwave asked, as he connected the plug to the capacitor.

"Four hundred or so, Wheeljack built it custom. He must've owed Ratch a pretty big favor." Hook was now busy adjusting the knob on the capacitor.

Soundwave cocked an optic ridge. "That's enough to kill."

Hook leaned back and gave him a feral grin. He gestured with two of his hands at the completed contraption on the table. "Be my guest."

Soundwave picked up the small screwdriver and started to unscrew a small piece of plating on his neck. Most frames are designed with a similar port, used for medical reasons if the mech or femme is ever in critical condition. The port under the plating is designed to send any power it receives straight to the spark chamber and processor, to keep essential systems from shutting down completely without any backup. However, if a bot knew a sufficient amount about the medical layout of their body, then he could easily divert the electricity to any system in his frame. Soundwave was one of those bots, and he had his port configured to send all of the power to his main sensory net. It was a simple procedure, requiring a tweak of a few wires and removing a breaker. He hadn't even graduated from his apprenticeship when he had done it. Of course, tampering with an emergency medical system was illegal, but it was nearly impossible to be caught.

Soundwave leaned forward and subspaced the piece of armor. He flicked the switch on the generator, and a low humming noise filled the small room. The capacitor knob was turned up a quarter of the way. A heavy dose. Many bots were permanently offlined from shorting. They didn't know their frame or their tolerance. Soundwave wasn't sympathetic.

As the capacitor charged, Soundwave leaned back and produced another small cable from his subspace. It was a standard cable used by medics that allowed a bot without any energy left in their systems to leech energy from a healthy companion. Hook eyed the cable with distaste.

"You're not going damp it are you?" Damping was for the femmes and the old.

"Do I look like Vortex?" snapped Soundwave. He proceeded to connect the cord to the power output plug in his abdomen. When it was secure, he turned at looked at Ravage. "May I?" Ravage nodded and retracted a port cover on his side. The benefit of linking Ravage to himself was twofold. Not only could he safely take a much larger dose, but he could also allow his symbiont to short. Most cassettes had frames that were too small to take a direct surge with enough electricity for a proper dose, but this was easily fixed with a certain medical cable.

The humming in the room ceased, and slowly morphed to a quiet crackling. Soundwave heard the familiar click of the generator turning off. The capacitor was charged. He didn't need to ask if Ravage was ready, Soundwave could feel the quadruped's anxious anticipation in his spark. Hook was still sitting there with an expectant look on his face. He never turned it up a quarter of the way.

Without any theatrics, and after blocking all his emotions from his other symbionts out of habit, Soundwave picked up the adapted plug from the table and clicked it into his neck.

The effect was instantaneous. He felt a wave wash over his sensors, leaving an impermeable void. No feeling whatsoever. His body was devoid of sensation for half an astrosecond. Was he floating? He couldn't feel. He didn't even know where he was. It was the calm before the storm. The rush hit his processor. Every node on his body lit up in an impossible ecstasy rivaled by nothing. Interfacing paled in comparison to the indescribable rush of electrons pounding a ruthless tempo of pleasure into his systems. The effect was made even more intense by Ravage's bond; he could feel the guiltless euphoria throbbing in his spark, threatening to overwhelm him completely. He couldn't think, he didn't even know his own name. Astroseconds felt like orns. The feeling was too good. Soundwave was writhing in mindless bliss. Ravage was lying next to him, shuddering uncontrollably. He was getting at least three times the sensation Soundwave was. To Soundwave, that was incomprehensible, sober or not. The pleasure kept growing; it seemed there was no end to the euphoric heaven. The feeling was overpowering. Too much. He couldn't resist anything in this state, so he let the wave of infinite pleasure carry him into the void of a reboot cycle.

The first thing Soundwave felt when he activated his sensors was a warm tingling glow all over his body. He onlined his optics and glanced sideways at Ravage, who was lazily smiling up at him. His optics still held the telltale white stress marks around the edges. That meant he hadn't offlined. Soundwave shook his head. No matter how heavy a dose, Ravage never offlined, ever.

"How long?" Soundwave asked. The question was directed at Hook, who was staring at Ravage with unrestrained surprise.

"Half a breem. How does Ravage do that?" Envy was written all over his faceplates.

Soundwave shrugged. "I've asked him for vorns, and he always tells me he's got a high tolerance."

Hook scoffed. Damn bot was always playing games or speaking in riddles. "Well I've seen bots way bigger than him who have been shortin' for vorns longer than he's even been alive, and they still offline." Hook reached for the capacitor and pulled it towards himself. He flicked the switch on the generator, and the low humming started again.

From the opposite couch came the sounds of a bot coming out of recharge, followed by a static laden groan. Sunstreaker rolled onto his back, and proceeded to give himself a once-over. He cursed quietly to himself, followed by a quiet hiss as he shut his cover.

Hook glanced over at the clearly hung-over gladiator. "Hello, sunshine."

"Slag off." The golden twin was sitting up now, slowly taking in his surroundings with a frown on his faceplates. He spied a half empty cube of high grade on the table and clumsily reached for it. He scanned the contents, and then proceeded to drink the teal liquid. It tasted stale, but Sunstreaker downed it in two gulps anyway. He stood up, wobbled, and started for the door to Vortex's room.

"Vortex is round five?" asked Hook in a mockingly innocent tone.

"Frag you." Sunstreaker threw his empty cube at Hook's head, but his aim was off. Instead, he slid inside the empty bedroom and shut the door.

Ravage snickered and stood up shakily. He quickly realized it was going to be impossible while he was in this state to make it to Hook's high grade stash, so instead he lay back down and pinged Soundwave with the request. Soundwave gave him a pathetic look, but stood up and retrieved three cubes from a shelf on the wall. He returned and sat back down on the couch just as the humming stopped. Ravage accepted his cube, and both he and Soundwave drank deeply. Soundwave finished his cube and set it on the table as he turned to Hook. "We don't have all day."

Hook waved him off with a flick of a wrist, and plugged the device into his arm. A grin spread across Soundwave's faceplate as he saw the effects take hold. Hook was twitching, shivering and shuddering. The spectacle was accompanied by a myriad of noises coming from his vocalizer, mostly grunting and extended groans. Soundwave wondered if that was what he looked like. The communications bot walked over and unplugged the adapter from Hook's flailing arm. He gathered up and subspaced the equipment on the table, and reattached his neck armor. He stood and turned to leave and spotted Ravage giving him an extremely dopey look from his perch on the couch.

"You have four legs, use them."

Ravage gave him a nasty look, then jumped off the couch and paced uneasily towards the door. Soundwave followed him, holding back a grin. They walked through the deserted building in comfortable silence, the subdued atmosphere an eerie foil of what was to come. As Soundwave stepped into the darkness, he pinged Hook a quick message with the address of the club, and then quickly faded into the Kaon night.


	2. II

The datapad shattered into tiny pieces against the wall, fragments falling to the already messy floor. Chairs were upended; the table split in half, and all of his possessions lay in ruin around him. Energon was pooled in multiple spots on the ground, leaking from crushed cubes. The door had endured a flurry of dents, and was no longer functional. Crystal fragments from the once intact window winked up from the floor, reflecting the artificial xenon lights pouring in from outside. The berth was the only remaining undamaged object. The room was quiet except for the gentle whoosh of air blowing in from the new hole in the wall.

Standing in the center of the maelstrom was Ratchet. He had resigned from destroying things, only because there was nothing left to break. He had never been this angry. They had no right to do this to him. He was an outstanding medic, easily the best in Iacon. It was entirely the council's fault. He did what any decent bot would have done in that situation, and yet he was the one who got terminated. Nobody would want to live after damage like that, and Ratchet wasn't about to force anyone through what would be a grim existence at best. Life as a tiny fraction of what it once was.

A bot by the designation of Wildride had been found outside the medical bay, in the worst condition Ratchet had ever seen a mech endure. He was bleeding energon profusely through countless rips and tears in his frame. His left leg was resting on the ground next to him, fully detached. Torn off was a better term. There was a catastrophic amount of damage to the injured mech's helm. His optics were completely missing. After Ratchet and the other medic on duty had performed a miracle of a surgery that had lasted well into the next orn, the bot was in a relatively stable condition. Unfortunately, it wasn't an existence worth living. He couldn't be transferred to another frame; his spark was far too weak. The damage in his processor was far too much to overcome. The rest of his life would be spent in a completely immobile state. So Ratchet had done the only humane thing to do, he had presented Wildride with two option: continue living in this state, or be medically offlined. The mech had vehemently refused the first option, and opted for death, so Ratchet had peacefully offlined him. Ratchet hated losing his patients with a passion, but sometimes it had to be done. Apparently the chief medical officer at Iacon hadn't approved of that decision, and Ratchet was put on suspension. They had transferred him to work in a hospital in Kaon for a few decacycles until they cleared things up. Ratchet was expecting to return to the academy to defend his decision at the conclusion of his suspension. Instead of returning to Iacon the next orn, Ratchet had received a message stating that he was no longer a part of the medical branch at the academy in Iacon. That was a breem ago.

With nothing left for him in his dingy hotel room, Ratchet crossed the chaos and kicked the door open. He wandered to the hotel exit in an angry haze. His feet were leading his frame, guided by an unspoken need to vent. He wasn't conscious of where he was going. He found himself walking towards the eastern district of Kaon, the nefarious one. It was the place that the best stories came from. Not a place for the faint of spark.

The bright lights passed him quietly, the outside world a multicolored blur. The night scene in Kaon was famous for its entrancing effects. A place where the night outshone the day. Bots from all walks of life surrounded him, their destinations a mystery. Nobody stopped to chat, not here.

A breem later, as he was passing a poorly lit alley, he heard a quiet groan coming from the darkness to his right. Common sense told him to keep walking. One could never be too careful in Kaon at night.

Against his instincts, he glanced towards the noise. The alley itself was narrow, stuck between two ominous hotels. Ratchet could easily touch the walls on either side if he stretched his arms out. The other end of the alley was enclosed in darkness. A dark shape was sprawled on the ground, half hidden by shadow.

Robbery was a common occurrence in these streets; the figure in question was probably a victim of a mugging that turned violent. Criminals often demanded credits from bots under the threat of cannon or sword. It happened all over Cybertron.

Ratchet moved a few steps toward the figure. "Hello?" The darkness swallowed his words.

More groaning was the only response he got. He considered checking the mech over, as he undoubtedly needed medical help. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. If he was rewarded for his vorns of effort by being terminated without so much as a hearing, then so be it. He wasn't giving anything back. He turned on his heel and made his way back to the main street.

A raspy voice behind him spoke up, barely a whisper. "Please."

Ratchet froze. He could hear the sounds of a mech struggling on the ground. He was probably trying to get up. Ratchet slowly turned around.

The bot was struggling to grab hold of something, anything to hold himself in a sitting position. He was beaten around the faceplates and on the back of his helm. Energon coated his midsection and his right leg. It looked like there was a weapon embedded in his chassis. Judging from his frame design and paint, he was probably a noble. The wounded bot managed to raise his head and stare into Ratchet's optics. "Please end my life."

Ratchet stood there, immobile. His anger was streaked with shock. Silence reigned over the pair. "What?"

The mech was now slouching towards the ground; the effort of holding himself up was taxing. "I have nothing left."

Ratchet looked away. He couldn't do that. It was just credits; the mech could get by fairly easily on welfare. The bot would fully recover if given decent medical care. But he had just ended a life prematurely. Was there a difference? Ratchet wasn't in the mood for philosophical games. He walked over to the dark figure and pulled out a compact blaster from his subspace. He then knelt down next to the mech, who was looking up at the medic in disbelief.

"Do you want to die?" Ratchet spoke clearly and with force.

The mech was immobile, staring at the blaster in Ratchet's hand. Uncertainty was etched on his faceplates. He was handsome, Ratchet noticed. That was a thought for another time, another place. The miserable bot hung his head. His voice was barely audible when he spoke. "Yes."

Ratchet wasn't going to question the response; the injured probably had a multitude of reasons. He could even kill himself if he wanted to. Decision made, Ratchet repositioned the blaster under the mechs chin, and fired upward into his cranial casing. Energon and processor parts spattered on the wall in front of him. The lifeless frame slumped forward towards the ground as Ratchet caught it in a gentle embrace. He lowered the body to the ground, and stood up. He oddly felt nothing. His emotions were blank. He took a step back, leaned against the wall of the hotel, and offlined his optics. Another bot was dead at his hands. One might call him a serial killer.

The only light source in the alley, an old glowing sign on the wall facing Ratchet, flickered and then went dark. Heavy night engulfed the pair as Ratchet was left alone with his thoughts.

A breem later, he pushed himself off the wall and stared down at the barely discernable shape at his feet. Still, he felt nothing. He sent the Enforcement Office in Kaon a tip-off with the location of the dead mech, and then turned and fled the alley.

* * *

A menacing hypnotic beat pounded throughout the club. Black onyx covered every surface, glittering in a deceptively innocent way. Xenon lights flared overhead, a brilliant white lightning illuminating the scene on the thumping bass beats. Frames moved in tune, dancing like puppets, the music in full control. The club was crowded, a motley assortment of patrons seeking an escape from wherever they came from. The bots here weren't looking for plain enjoyment. That could be found elsewhere. There was an unknown force that dragged them in. For some reason, in this place, it was easy to get lost and forget one's identity. It was a place to lose control.

Blaster was standing on a tall black pedestal at the back of the room, surrounded by his equipment. The base of the pillar was engulfed in colossal speakers. He had his mask down in the thunderous atmosphere, ruthlessly mixing the sound in any way he saw fit. A servo flicked switches. A hand turned knobs. He was their puppeteer.

Alongside him lay Steeljaw, observing the crowd with searching optics. Soundwave would be showing up sometime, along with Ratchet, and possibly Hook. Eventually. The night was young. Jazz and Sideswipe were already there, sitting in a secluded booth reserved for important guests. They appeared to be having a casual discussion.

_:Steeljaw, make a round.:_

In Blaster's experience, it was always beneficial to have an extra set of optics while has was busy at the front. Often, Steeljaw would find unwelcome guests or mechs causing trouble. It was better this way, to catch the problems before they got out of hand.

_:On it.:_

Steeljaw slunk down the stairs behind the podium, and padded around the edge of the dance floor. The dancers were surrounding the speakers, getting as close as they dared. Frames hit each other with reckless abandon; it was almost a choreographed fight. Not fighting, Steeljaw recognized. They were letting go. Once he passed the swirling crowd, he circled the bar that stood in the center of the room. The bartender, a mech as black as the surface around him, nodded at Steeljaw as he passed. Booths and raised tables lined the walls, filled to capacity. It was busy tonight.

Dodging the legs of moving mechs, he made his way towards the entrance. Nothing seemed unusual. As the leg of a bright white mech passed, Steeljaw saw two familiar figures entering the club through the opaque crystal doors. Soundwave stood tall, Ravage at his side. A tiny smirk worked its way onto Soundwave's lip plates as he spotted Blaster's symbiont stalking towards them.

Steeljaw stopped a few paces away from the two and gave them a toothy grin. "You made it."

Soundwave nodded. The place always grabbed his attention when he entered, no matter how many times he visited. It was a different world here.

"I take it you can find your way around?"

Soundwave raised an optic ridge. "Amusing."

Steeljaw laughed, then turned and melted into the crowd. Soundwave glanced down at Ravage, whose gaze was fixed on the retreating quadruped. With Ravage leading, the pair ventured deeper into the chaos.

* * *

The sky was black now, the night in full swing. Artificial light illuminated his path as he walked. Brothels, clubs, bars, all were oddly beautiful, purposefully designed to snare passerby with their entrancing auras. He continued to move, those establishments not his final destination. The night darkened. Light was sparser in this direction, this was not the main district. The street turned sharply, and with it, the vibe of the night. His destination now lay in front of him. Standing alone at the end of the cul-de-sac was a black, cubical, two story building. There were no windows. The building seemed to have a life of its own, bleeding into the night around it. He could sense the music pulsing from behind those infamous doors. A powerfully built mech was leaning against the wall to the right of the entrance. Multiple swords were affixed to his back.

Ratchet had unconsciously arrived at his initial destination for the night, before that untimely distraction. It was supposed to be his last night in Kaon, and by unanimous decision they had decided to spend it at Blaster's club. It was definitively an acquired taste. He was the best live musician on Cybertron; he could have any job he desired. Yet, he stayed at the end of this dark street. Ratchet didn't question his decision at all. It was a disturbingly good fit for the musician.

Ratchet came to a stop directly in front of the doors. The black sensor on the intricate crystal was glistening, yearning to be touched. Ratchet acquiesced, and the doors silently parted. Music thrummed from within, and Ratchet slipped inside as the crystal clicked shut behind him.


	3. III

Light reflected off of the polished black surfaces, illuminating the scene in bursts. Mechs of all colors jostled each other as they tried to navigate through the dancing mass. Limbs moved to the beat that pounded through their frames. The dancers were all different in style, yet they moved for the same purpose. Waiters slid through the scene with ease, escorting platters of drinks to their destinations. The crowd was hardly an obstacle; vorns of practice made their chore a mindless task. They moved like ghosts, they went unnoticed unless one actively looked for them. Ratchet stood in the dim entrance, taking in the atmosphere with familiar reminiscence. Here, many a night had gone favorably awry.

The medic moved towards the nearest wall, attempting to navigate around the dancing cluster and further inside. He glanced at the nearest pair of dancing mechs. Two seekers, one black and purple, the other midnight blue. Their optics were dark and unseeing, but the pair moved perfectly in compliment to each other and the music. The sight was unnerving. They represented two additional casualties to the music's onslaught.

Ratchet slowly picked through the metallic jungle towards the circular bar in the center of the room. Two tall high grades, no additives. It was his usual order. The black, eight-armed bartender flicked a hand in his direction without turning around. The mech had four ruby-colored optics set around his head, each facing a different direction. A consequence of this unusual trait was an unobstructed view in any direction, all the time. The dark burgundy gaze was not standard by any measure. What stood out most to Ratchet was their chilling depth. It was as though they could see everything that was or had ever been. Ratchet glanced at the crimson orb facing him. The light was piercing in its solidarity, and it made Ratchet slightly uncomfortable. He looked away.

The bartender was rather mysterious, and very few knew his true designation, and even less his origins. Blaster had told Ratchet vorns ago that the bot had once been known as Whirlwind. To all regulars of the club, he was recognized as Swivel.

There was a flash of black, and two cubes were sitting on the bar in front of Ratchet. He took the offered drinks, and nodded his thanks at the red optic facing him. There was no acknowledgement of the gesture. Swivel wasn't facing him; he was engaged in a deep conversation with a tall turquoise bot at the opposite side of the bar. He also appeared to be carrying a heated argument on his internal comm line, if a few violently waving arms were any indication.

The orn had been long and stressful. For Ratchet, this was customary, yet he still felt obliged to rinse it away. He raised the beverage to his lip plates and downed the contents. The liquid was bitter, thick, and rich. The empty container hit the bar quietly.

As he sipped his remaining cube, Ratchet stood straight and turned away from the bar. Soundwave and the others were here, probably in a reserved table near the back. Ratchet gazed toward the main dance floor; his view of the booths behind it obstructed by the crowd. Almost eager to navigate the chaos again, he strode toward the furor.

* * *

"An' he still had no idea. Ha. Fragging nobles come down here and expect not to get treated like the spoilt trash they are? They flaunt their inherited mountains of credits while everyone else suffers through this slagheap of a vorn. He asked me if I wanted to go to somewhere. So I stabbed him and told him he was being robbed."

Jazz concluded his monologue and took a long drink from his cube. A flash of white illuminated their booth. Five mechs lounged around the circular table, perfectly at ease. The light disappeared. Jazz could tell there was an exasperated look on Sideswipe's dark faceplates.

"You can't just assault every mech that has more money than you, it's not like he was waving his wealth in your faceplate." The red mech's disapproval of Jazz's solution was etched in his voice.

"That's rich coming from somebody who makes a living by extinguishing sparks. An' the irony of it is, I didn't even hack his accounts. Every last slagging credit is still there." Jazz barked another laugh and downed his drink. The blue optics across the table scowled at him.

Jazz donned a thoughtful look. "That was a few joors ago. He's probably been cleaned out by now. Guess I made someone's vorn."

"Nobles are not tolerated well anywhere." Soundwave intoned. He felt Ravage's agreement.

The whole planet of Cybertron was undergoing heavy political turmoil that didn't seem to have an end in sight. The historical upper class that held the majority of the wealth was indirectly pitted against the rest of the population. The clash was the result of a power struggle in the high echelons of government that had been continuing for nearly a vorn. No legislation had been passed in almost as long. A slumping economy had only exacerbated the rift. Six mechs had even died during protests in Crystal City. Some mechs thought Megatron was overstepping his bounds, yet he was the High Protector, and as such he warranted the inherent trust of much of the population. The political stagnation was wreaking havoc on most industrial sectors of the economy. A stable job was near impossible to come by these orns, so many had resorted to illicit methods of earning a living. This was partially the reason of Kaon's recent resurgence. It was the unofficial capital of the illicit and the underhanded.

Jazz slouched back into his seat as he pinged Swivel with refills. He looked across the table at Sideswipe. "Ya get your parts?"

Sideswipe nodded. "Earlier this orn."

Jazz smiled back ruthlessly. "We're going to make a killing."

Another flash of light; there was a mech standing at the end of the booth. The shape of his tall dark frame identified him as Ratchet. He slid into the booth next to Soundwave, opposite Steeljaw. As soon as he was settled, he cycled a heavy rush of air through his vents. Soundwave's engine rumbled quietly.

Ratchet took a sip of his energon and nodded at Jazz and Sideswipe. "I'm pleasantly surprised you escaped Iacon. Still in business?"

Sideswipe smirked and looked down into his drink. Jazz made a noise of derision before answering. "The last of the bots they sent out after us ended up in pieces. He still hadn't offlined completely, he was a fighter. So we left him outside your med bay and left for Praxis. Ran into a few surprises along the way, but eventually we wound up here."

Ratchet froze, his sudden stiffness went unnoticed in the dark. He felt slightly sick. He probably should have guessed as much.

Jazz clapped his clawed hands and looked around the booth. "Shall we dance?"

A murmur of agreement rose from the group. Soundwave pinged Blaster and turned to look at the pedestal. The musician retracted his mask and glanced up in their direction. He saw Ratchet and Soundwave and smiled at them in greeting. Soundwave nodded toward the dance floor. Blaster winked, then reengaged his mask and returned to his equipment. Steeljaw jumped down to let Jazz slide out, and then hopped back up. Ratchet and Soundwave stood from the booth. With a questioning glance toward the two cassettes remaining in the booth, Sideswipe scooted out and joined the others.

As they moved away from their booth toward the dance floor, the music faded. The club was quiet and dark, aside from the various mingling noises of conversation. It was almost peaceful. A few steps further, and a single long bass note thrummed through the dark air. Cheers erupted from the crowd. They knew this song well. Another step. An electronic wobble cascaded over the bass. The floor glowed a brilliant white, as all other light sources in the club extinguished themselves. The blazing floor was now the only light source in the room. A final step. The notes in the air morphed into a low beat, as an electric percussion started low and built. Soundwave grabbed Ratchet's wrist and spun to face him. Near them, Jazz was standing very close to Sideswipe. Both had a feral gleam in their optics.

The crescendo overhead was building. A deafening roar built and thundered through the room, the noise of two hundred mechs stomping their pedes. The room was dark as a high note climbed and the beat quickened.

Ratchet grinned at Soundwave. "I hope you can keep up."

Soundwave snorted in response.

The high note drew to a close, and for an astrosecond, all that could be heard was the stomping of an eager crowd. The bass struck twice, and then the dam broke.

A deep, fast, unforgiving beat thundered out of the speakers, the floor flashing in perfect synchronization. Soundwave was struck with a powerful urge to move. It didn't matter how; the music would be his guide. His frame acted of its own accord, and he entrusted it to Blaster. He glanced over at the other two members of their group. Jazz and Sideswipe were a flurry of motion, their frames gyrating in harmony. Soundwave decided there were definite sexual undercurrents in the way Sideswipe's interface panel slid up Jazz's leg. He returned his attention to Ratchet, who was occasionally brushing his chassis against Soundwave's own. It could have been accidental, but they both knew it wasn't.

The beat escalated, a pulverizing onslaught of bass washed over the crowd. The dance floor was frenzied. Every frame was lost in the whirling storm of music. Flares of light from the ground illuminated the crowd. The atmosphere grew more frenetic by the astrosecond.

A joor later, the tempo crashed past its peak and receded into the gentle ebb of harmonic strings. Ratchet slid behind Soundwave, his chassis now pressed to Soundwave's back. The music was fading, Blaster was undoubtedly queuing another track up. Ratchet slipped a hand around Soundwave's side and traced the outline of Soundwave's panel as he leaned forward and growled in the blue audio. "You have something I want."

Soundwave shuddered. He spun, meaning to reply, but the medic had vanished into the swirling mass around them. Soundwave knew where the mech was headed, and he was about to follow when he was grabbed by the wrist from behind.

"Would ya mind if I borrowed your small friend?"

Soundwave turned to face the distraction, impatience radiating from his dark frame. "I am occupied."

Jazz grinned knowingly. "I know, and I'll be out of your way if ya let me have it."

Soundwave cycled a surge of air through his vents as he deftly retrieved the object from his subspace and slipped it to Jazz. The silver mech nodded his thanks and disappeared toward the bar with Sideswipe. As the high notes of a new song blared out over the crowd; Soundwave turned toward the back of the club, his fans running hot.

* * *

Shadows cast by multicolored lights danced along the wall of the building, chasing their creators with steady determination. The night was quiet, the stellar light obstructed by dark methane clouds in the sky. The soft sound of footsteps was the only discernable noise. The steps were steady and determined, driven by an insistent purpose.

The two shadows faded to nothing as they escaped the last of the light. The ghostly trek of their masters was uneventful. A joor passed by in eerie silence. Slowly, soft vibrations filled the air. The quiet thrum marked their arrival.

A quick encrypted message shot through the night air, one shadow to the other.

:_Targets confirmed in vicinity. Collateral damage acceptable if necessary. Anonymity required. Weapons free._:

* * *

_Feedback is appreciated. I have not abandoned this story as of 4/20/2012. I should be able to update again sometime in the near future, but I am currently very busy._


End file.
